Chapter 20 #2
Perl passes the shirt to Kerik. Kerik pulls it over his head and smooths it down. “Begin, thrall. Show me the correct way a thrall should behave at such a banquet.:”
Perl nods, a small tight movement, and says, “This is the correct way to kneel,” as he slides onto the floor with straight-backed elegance. “Rather than the lumpen warrior-like displays you have been doing.”
Kerik nods. He swallows as he looks at Perl on his knees. “That is pleasing,” he says roughly. Suddenly, he can’t seem to think clearly. Perl’s movements were so beautifully designed to delight the watcher. Kerik stares at Perl on his knees in the clothing of a thrall.
“And then,” Perl says, his voice equally thick with desire. “This would be how you would respond if I said, ‘down, thrall’.” With another practiced display, Perl presses his forehead to the floor, bringing up his cuffed wrists and placing them together in the small of his back.
It’s so beautiful. Kerik is roused watching each movement.
Clearly Perl has done this before. Despite the fact it is a great transgression for him to behave so, he has practised these movements and the thought of that makes Kerik feel another wave of pure desire.
He looks down at Perl. His voice is a rough whisper.
“This is not your first time kneeling so.”
Perl sits up, leaning back on his heels. His face is flushed with arousal and a needy desire that reflects Kerik’s own. “No. I have performed this way in private, for Seridil and for others. And alone, for my own pleasure.” He swallows. “It has always given me the deepest pleasure to behave so.”
Kerik reaches out. He strokes Perl’s lower lip, “Did you touch yourself, when you did this alone?”
Perl nods. His lip rubs against Kerik’s finger.
“In these chambers?” Kerik’s voice is rough.
“But not since you were lowered with iron?”
“No. When that happened I was made to renounce such behaviours. I was bid to promise before all the court that I would never kneel for a mortal thrall again.”
Kerik slides his thumb into Perl’s mouth as he had done the night before. Perl allows it, his mouth opening sweetly. He sucks on Kerik’s thumb in a way that makes Kerik squirm on the bed. “I have heard that for a fae, breaking a promise is hard.”
Perl pulls his mouth from Kerik’s thumb and says, “Not hard. Impossible. In simple terms. But there are usually ways around any promise that is sworn. The words are precise. For example, you are not entirely a mortal.”
“I have fae blood,” Kerik says. “That is why you can kneel for me?”
“Correct. The words I said are the words that bind me. And only those. But right now, can I remind you we have something to do, this is not only bed sport. Pay attention. You will need to do this.”
Kerik moves closer, leaning forward on the bed.
He slides his hand to cup Perl’s cheek. Perl seems to shiver as he does so.
It would be only a matter of moving another inch to kiss Perl’s mouth.
But Perl wants to discuss the next test. So Kerik decides to deny him what he clearly wants as much as Kerik does, for a moment, at least, and says, “What else will I have to do? Surely there is more to this service test than kneeling and prostrating myself.”
“There is,” says Perl, his voice coming back to a more reasonable, calm tone.
“You will be required to obey simple commands. Like a servant. You will not speak, which I know is always a challenge for you as you think every thought that enters your head is so important it must be spoken aloud. You will be silent and you will fetch me things, pour my wine. And,” he pauses, before continuing, thickly, “during service, some fae put their thralls to use.”
“Use?” Kerik asks, although he is quite certain what kind of use Perl means.
“Sexual use. However that will not be necessary. I will not command it of you.”
“That would be suspicious. Perhaps you should. What sort of sexual use?”
“Kerik—” Perl begins.
But Kerik cuts him off, “In this chamber,” he says in a low soft voice, “I am your Master and you will answer my questions. What sort of use?”
Perl gasps and Kerik thinks that if Perl’s scar was not covered by the golden collar he would use it as a map for his touch and curl his fingers around Perl’s throat to make the point clear.
But he restrains himself. There will be time for that.
At least he hopes there will be. Time for all he wishes to do to this infuriating, beautiful creature.
“There may be cock warming,” Perl says.
“I see.” Kerik smiles. “And hadn’t you better demonstrate how I would be required to do that.”
“Don’t you know?” Perl says, leaving a pause before he adds, more sweetly, “Master.”
“It might be different here. You have already declared my attempts at kneeling and scraping to be substandard, perhaps you ought to show me the correct way a thrall should warm his Master’s cock?”
“I’m sure it's not different at all.”
Kerik hides a smile. So this is how it will always be with Perl.
And he cannot say it surprises him. This, Kerik thinks, is not reluctance, but another mask.
A need Perl has to deny himself what he wants at each step.
Perl is ashamed of his own tastes. He fights his desires.
He needs to take his pleasures under the cloak of lack of control, the pretence that he doesn’t want it.
Kerik says, “Must I command you to do it, thrall?”
Perl makes a sound like a broken gasp. It is wholly satisfying.
Kerik keeps his voice in the same dark tone and says, “Take my cock out.”
When Perl lifts a hand to move Kerik’s sleeping shirt out of the way, Kerik snaps. “No, put your hands behind you,” remembering a particularly arousing way of taking pleasure from one with desires like Perl’s.
Perl obeys. The golden cuffs sparkle as he moves his wrists behind his back. Then, with his watery elegance, he leans forward and plucks at the hem of the sleeping shirt with his mouth, moving it aside. His breath is coming heavy, Perl’s need obvious.
Kerik is roused beneath the shirt, his cock stiff and eager.
“Take me in your mouth,” he says. And he half expects Perl to refuse.
To sit back on his heels with a smug expression and tell Kerik this game has gone far enough.
But he does not. He leans forward without hesitation and swallows Kerik’s cock with a slow, needy groan of pleasure.
Kerik echoes his moan. Perl’s mouth feels exquisite, cool and soft, unbearably arousing.
But after a moment he pulls back, looking up at Kerik. His face is blood-flushed. His lips pink against his pale skin.
“So,” Perl says, voice raw. “That would be the way of the practice.”
Kerik smiles down at him. “Thrall,” he says, making the word long and soft. “Did I tell you to stop?”
Perl’s face changes. He drops his gaze and looks at Kerik through his pale eyelashes. Softly, he says, “No, Master.”
Kerik reaches out and strokes Perl’s cheek. “Do you want to be punished, thrall? Whipped before all the court?”
Perl makes the most beautiful needy sound. He looks wrecked, like a drunkard deep in his cups. Kerik strokes his thumb across Perl’s cheek to his lower lip. “Zai’s right eye,” Kerik growls, “you are so beautiful when you let go and show me your desire.”
Kerik thinks he has never spoken anything more true.
He feels a great wave of emotion. He is certainly overwhelmed with lust for Perl on his knees, the haughty, smug creature, broken by his own needs before him, but there is something more.
Something like respect for the power Perl has.
The power to resist his desires and the power to act on them. It takes Kerik’s breath.
He uses his thumb to pull down on Perl’s lower lip, levering his mouth open. Perl does not resist. With his other hand, Kerik takes hold of his roused cock, spit-wet from Perl’s mouth and offers it. “Do you want this?” he says roughly. “Do you want to suck me?”
Perl pulls back a little so Kerik’s thumb slides from his mouth, in a soft, breathy tone, he says, “I’ve never wanted anything more.” He sounds so beautifully, utterly broken. “Master.”
Darkly, Kerik says, “Pleasure me, thrall.”
Perl leans forward with a groan. He opens his mouth for Kerik’s cock and lets it slide between his lips, this time sucking it tightly.
Kerik yelps, the pleasure is strange. Perl’s mouth is cool, but not unpleasantly so, and the soft pressure that takes him, surrounds his roused cock, is like nothing he’s ever felt. Overwhelmingly good.
He reaches out and takes hold of Perl’s hair, curling his hand tight, around the place it emerges from Perl’s scalp. This makes Perl moan around Kerik’s cock in a way that sends sparks of pleasure up Kerik’s spine.
He likes this, Kerik thinks. Not a new thought but here, now, it hits him like a stone to the temple.
And he feels his own answering want, a deep, dark uncoiling desire.
A desperate need to Master Perl, to take him and use him and show him what a prince of the empire can do to a filthy faerie creature on its knees.
Keeping his hand in Perl’s hair, he moves the other to Perl’s face.
He lays it on Perl’s cheek. Perl is flushed, skin a little warmer than usual, although still cool by mortal standards.
Perl groans at the touch and Kerik says in a low, husky whisper.
“Let me take you as I please. Open your mouth and let me use you.”
He feels Perl gasp around his cock as he obediently opens his throat and lets Kerik control everything.
Kerik feels the faerie before him, becoming nothing but a wet hole, something for his Master’s use, his Master’s pleasure.
He shoves his cock in, brutally fast, hard and deep.
Perl makes a gasping, gurgling noise, choking at the invasion, but Kerik can feel the way Perl is moving beneath him, rolling his hips, so aroused he is lost to anything but pleasure.
Kerik pulls back again, letting Perl breathe. He rubs the head of his filthy cock over Perl’s lips, decorates that gasping, needy mouth with spittle and his own desire.
Perl’s eyes, which had been closed, flutter open, fixing on Kerik’s.
The raw helpless need, almost makes Kerik spend at the sight of those wide eyes, ice blue and wanting.
Perl looks like he is in a state of pure rapture, more content than Kerik has ever seen him, with Kerik’s cock thrusting hard into his throat.
He shoves himself back in — deep — gets the grunt of suffering he wants then pulls back again, only a little, enough to plunge back down Perl’s throat.
Just using, using Perl’s throat as he pleases.
He tugs Perl’s hair hard as he takes and takes.
Takes pleasure as he wishes with no care for Perl’s comfort or desires.
He keeps going, punishingly rough, until Perl is drooling spittle down his chin, gasping as he is taken with no control over how deep Kerik forces himself down Perl’s throat or how viciously he is used.
Kerik spends like this — taking what he wants, greedy, selfish — with a roar of satisfaction, pleasure blinding him, rolling through and around him, everything pulsing delight.
Only a few brief moments of recovery later, Kerik is sliding from the bed, legs spreading over Perl so he comes to rest on Perl’s knees, straddling his body, their faces close so Kerik can kiss Perl, kiss the seed from his lips, licking and nipping.
He dips his head and forces his tongue between the collar and the skin of Perl’s neck, licking over the roughness of Perl’s scar.
Perl is panting and wanting, barely present in his own dazed pleasure.
Kerik feels a little stickiness under his thighs. With a soft chuckle he presses his lips to Perl's ear. Nips the skin beneath and growls. “Did being used like that make you spend, faerie?”
Perl’s voice is soft and slurred, “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
The sound of that, the confession and the way Perl says it, makes Kerik almost peak all over again.
He kisses Perl, keeps on and on kissing him, until they both come back to themselves, breathing soft, no longer ragged gasps.
It’s quite impressive how quickly Perl manages to compose himself, although his lips are still pinkened and swollen and his voice is rough when he says, “I need to take these things off and clean them so you can put them on.”
“Yes, Master,” Kerik says with a wink.
When Kerik is dressed in the flimsy diaphanous gold hip cloth and the cuffs, he leans close and kisses Perl languidly on the mouth. Just because he wants to. He tastes his own spend on Perl’s lips and it feels so good and right to be able to kiss Perl whenever he pleases.
When the kiss breaks, Kerik says, “I can’t wait to finish these tests, get your father’s sword and get out of here.”
“Let’s hope you can behave well enough that you do pass them,” says Perl. He is a different creature from the one who had knelt and begged for Kerik’s cock in his mouth. His mask is back in place. He is all fae coldness.
Kerik laughs to see it. “Of course I’ll pass them.
I have passed the first two and you said yourself that this one would be simple.
Then we will only have one more. When I pass that one we go back to Attar, complete your mission and…
” Kerik stops himself. He nearly spoke out of turn.
He nearly said something about becoming the great wizard king of Fanost.
“You needn’t,” Perl says, fastening his complicated silver jewelry about his wrist, “you needn’t act as if slaying Ur-Durik is just another test you will face when you are done with Vylenor.”
“You think I can’t?” says Kerik, swinging his hips in the golden cloth. “When you claim I am the Magician. One of the five fae princes that you brought into this world.”
Perl sighs at Kerik, one of his usual sighs but Kerik can’t help thinking there is a little indulgent smile behind it. “It is not a claim. It is the truth, but…” he pauses. “Let’s take it one thing at a time.”
Kerik smirks. “You have so little faith in your Master.”
Perl raises an annoyed eyebrow. “Stop that. I wish to keep my mind on the matter in hand.”